This Looks Like a Job for SpiderMan (Literally)
by Malcontent Ash
Summary: It's not easy for young college graduate Peter Parker to find employment, especially when he keeps disappearing as Spider-Man. What happens when Tony Stark offers him a job he just can't refuse? (NOW ALL IN ONE CHAPTER UPDATED 6/5/13)


"Parker, I don't care if the great lord himself is the reason you're behind on your rent. What I've gotten from you are nine months of promises and excuses when I need nine months of cash. Property in New York is expensive and I need your rent money to pay mine! You've got three days to move your stuff." The mousy brunette ran up the stairs of the grimy apartment building after his equally grimy landlord.

"Please, you can't do this. I'll get you the money as soon as I can, but without this I have nowhere to stay!" Big brown puppy dog eyes pleaded up at the scowling old woman. Her tan skin was wrinkled from years of smoking and the tired folds between her drawn brows showed no sympathy.

"You're out, Parker. Frankly, you're lucky I'm not suing your ass." The heavy set woman turned on a swollen ankle and continued up the filthy stairs, ignoring a whimper of protest from the supposedly adult man behind her. The yellowish glow in the hallway flickered as the old lighting system buzzed in familiar protest. It only went to further remind Peter that he was begging to keep his six by eight foot apartment in this hellhole and failing.

Peter was heavy-footed as he dragged himself up the rest of the stairs. He could feel the three day deadline like a noose tightening around his neck as he tried to come up with a plan. Unfortunately, Peter had exhausted most of the job opportunities within walking distance and he had sold his bike two weeks ago to a homeless guy so that he could afford something to eat. No one decent would hire someone who disappeared for hours on end with no explanation and Peter had already been fired by just about every minimum-wage employer in New York. Being Spider-man was quite possibly the most frustrating thing the brunette could think of as he wrestled with the jerry-rigged lock on his apartment. He was hungry, he was tired, his entire body hurt from fighting another no name asshole in spandex who got his hands on a photon blaster, and tomorrow he was about to start the whole process all over again.

Before the first light could find its way into Peter's window, the alarm on his watch was beeping angrily, startling him awake. When the adrenaline and terror finally started to ease from his system, he groaned miserably. Dawn of the first day… Somehow he had to scrape it together and beg his way into another apartment without a credit score or recommendation. He had briefly considered staying with the Fantastic Four, but being homeless seemed more upstanding than freeloading on some of the hardest working people he knew. He could see the headlines now: **SPIDER-MAN FOUND SLEEPING IN A DUMPSTER**. Jameson would do just about anything to get a picture that degrading.

The rusted handle turned with a creak as Peter prepared for his morning "shower." He'd been doing his best keeping clean, but a sink does not a shower make, no matter how hard you try. He scrubbed his face and underarms with soap and water and crouched in a way that required super-spider flexibility to wash his hair. This may quite possibly be the lowest he's ever been, but that means the only direction he could travel was up, right? With the old Parker luck kicked into overdrive, Peter kicked on his tired old converse and headed down to the Daily Bugle to see if they needed any photography done.

"Hey Marian," Peter smiled sheepishly at the attractive red-head. She smiled back politely before leaning forward, her breasts gently setting on the table (not that Peter noticed or anything) as she gave him a status report.

"If I were you, I'd get in there before his wife calls up again. Mrs. Jameson's been pretty insistent about him taking this Friday off," She conferred conspiratorially. He nodded gravely and after tugging his collared shirt as straight as he could, he knocked.

"Go away," Jonah hollered disinterestedly. Thrown for a bit of a loop, Peter stared at the door awkwardly for a moment before knocking again.

"Damnit," the old man yelled through the door. "What the hell do you want?" It was the closest Peter was ever going to get to an invitation from the man so he let himself in.

"Mr. Jameson," Peter started.

"Oh, Peter. It's you… What the hell do you want?" he asked again.

"I've been really short on money lately and I'm about to lose my apartment. You don't have any work I could be doing or…?"

"Of course I do, Parker," Jonah said almost amicably despite not looking up from the paper under his nose. "You're a freelancer. You want to make some money? Get me some shots I can work with!" His temper flared wildly as he looked into the cold blue eyes of his "employer."

"But sir," he started through clenched teeth, "I've brought you pictures of the last five guys Spider-man dragged in. You wouldn't take any of them!" It had been difficult to get action shots of the wannabe supervillains and even more difficult to scrape together the cash for the film.

"Of course not! How am I supposed to sell pictures of these no names when the other papers have pictures of Spider-man?! Get me a good shot of him beating in one of those poor sap's faces and then we'll talk." Jonah straightened his reading glasses on the end of his nose before unceremoniously shooing Peter from the room with a wave.

So all Peter had to do was get pictures of himself beating the daylights out of some criminal. Tempting, except for the whole power and responsibility deal… Oh, God was he screwed.

Considering the fact that the previous day had been, generously put, another failure in a long line of employment opportunities for Peter Parker, he decided that today he would take the day to himself. Or that's what he'd like to have said, but he was getting really short on time and options. That morning, instead of dressing in his civilian clothing, he pulled on his costume and slipped out the window and into the New York skyline.

Scraping together enough money to fund his basic needs here in the big apple was a constant struggle for the poor superhero. Maybe in the suburbs or the country he could make enough to pay his rent, somewhere the milk didn't cost at least a dollar more than the average and it was assumed that an apartment would come with facilities, but honestly, he never spent a moment thinking about living anywhere else.

Sure, the city was dirty… filthy really, and ripe with crime and poverty, but there was a damn good reason people flocked here. Some people came to New York for the excitement, some for the convenience of not having to drive into the city for work, but for Peter, there wasn't anywhere else. New York was his home. He spent the first sixteen years of his life amazed by the endless sights of the city, and that was before he ever left the ground.

With a satisfying spit, the first line of webbing shot from his wrist and he swung away from his crummy apartment and the rest of his problems. It was after noon before he even considered stopping and standing on the ground. He climbed down the side of an old brick apartment building, his head facing the ground as he moved at an inhuman speed. Before he was ten feet above the ground, he kicked off from the wall, flipping himself over and landing in front of a relatively unimpressed hotdog man.

"Taah Dahh!" He bragged playfully and the older gentleman merely rolled his eyes.

"Spider-man," he acknowledged with an untamed grey eyebrow raised. A young woman and her son who had been walking in their direction suddenly turned as the mother dragged her fascinated son away as quickly as she could. The old man grinned slightly at the woman dragging her young son. "I'm starting to think you're bad for business…" Spider-man gasped in mock surprise.

"With all the hotdogs I buy from you? I'm sure I've more than made up for all the business you've lost." He eyed a perfectly heated bun and tried to not to drool at the doughy scent. The man just grumbled slightly to himself in response as he grabbed his tongs and started sorting through the freshly cooked dogs. His knobby hands only shook slightly as he pulled the best looking dog from the heater and eased it into a freshly toasted bun. Without even asking he added two perfect wavy lines of mustard and one of ketchup and handed it to the masked vigilante. By the time Peter eased his mask half-way up his face, he was grinning with anticipation. He took a big bite before shifting the meal into his other hand and digging into a small pocket in his suit for payment. Before he could nimbly gather the correct change with his gloved fingers however, two shots rang out in the distance, followed by the wail of police cars.

"This one's on me," the old man said, turning toward where Spider-man had been standing. The young man was nowhere to be found but on the edge of his cart sat a small pile of change. _Damn, that kid_, the man thought with a smile. _Go get 'em, Spidey. _

Webslinging with one hand was significantly more difficult than webslinging with two, but add a hotdog into the mix and things start to get brutal. Luckily for Peter, the shots sounded like they were coming from not too far away. About six blocks and a painful two bites later, Peter was jumping down from a fire escape and into the fray.

Almost completely prepared for action, Peter landed in front of two armed men who appeared to be fleeing the scene of a crime. The taller of the two men was lanky and pale, he had a tattoo on his shoulder and gauged ears. The shorter man looked stronger, and from the look in his eyes, significantly less stable. The noise from the balls of Peter's feet hitting the ground in front of him startled the short man and he raised the gun threateningly prepared for a fight.

"Woah, hey there guys," Peter raised his hands slightly to show he meant no harm… for the moment. "Is it just me, or does every bad guy in New York these days have a gun?" He walked toward the men slowly and the smaller man shook the gun threateningly in response. "Here, lemmie get those for you," he responded, using both hands to attach webbing to the weapons before ripping them out of the men's hands.

The taller man looked to the smaller man as if to ask, _what now? _Rather than attempting to flee the scene, a glint of metal slipped out of his coat pocket as he lunged for Spider-man. The tip barely grazed the bright red fabric before Peter twisted out of the way like a cat righting itself midair. With an open fist, he jarred the weapon from the man's chubby fingers and deflected an awkward punch from his accomplice. Dealing with the more significant threat first, Spider-man gripped a stalky wrist tightly and threw the man against the wall, six feet in the air, and attached him with a heavy coating of webbing. He was about to do the same with the taller man as police cars blocked off one side of the alley. _Oh, crap. _The doors were opened with military precision, weapons at the ready as Spider-man attached a long line of web up to the top of the taller of the two buildings cradling the narrow alley.

"FREEZE!" Six pistols and a shotgun focused on the young vigilante as the now forgotten criminal did his best to sneak out of their line of sight.

"Is it just me or does _everyone _in New York have a gun these days?" He said with an exasperated sigh, hoping to distract the less focused of the officers as he pull the line taut. "Did I miss some kind of memo?" With a final tug he released the flexible line, throwing himself in the air. He landed on the top of the building at a run, scanning for his next move.

He could hear the officers shouting orders down on the ground as he jumped from the fire escape onto the next building. Generally, his best option was up, considering his increased mobility and the police's lack thereof, but he had run into the criminals in a more residential area. The apartment buildings were a handful of stories at best, so he'd have to find somewhere to hide and fast. He stuck another web to the corner of the tallest building nearby, taking this chance to glace back before ducking over the edge. Rather than staying up high where the police would be looking for him, he slipped down the side of the building where he was no longer visible and into the street. Some of the officers had managed to get back into their cars and he could hear the sirens approaching quickly. Acting mostly on instinct, he grabbed the lid of a nearby dumpster and slipped inside, closing himself inside just as a police car drove past.

As the sirens died down and his body started to relax, he finally had the chance to fully take in his surroundings. First of all, he was in fact in a dumpster. The rubber heel of his boot slipped against what might have once been Chao Mein. He breathed in deeply, and instantly regretted it. _Oh, dear lord. _With a gag he threw open the lid and jumped out. The brown slime from inside the dumpster discolored the fabric over one of his hands and his knees. He couldn't help but picture himself behind bars, Jameson smirking at him from the other side, and wonder whether or not his escape had really been worth it.

Half of the problems in his life could be tied back to that smug toothbrush-headed psychopath. Despite the time and effort he put into his photography, Jameson paid him pennies on the dollar, devoting the saving to his personal vendetta against Spider-man. And due to Jameson's damn-near slanderous articles, Spider-man had become public enemy number one. It didn't matter how many times he saved New York from Norman's latest manic episode, or sat in with the Fantastic Four in saving the multiverse, so long as he wore a mask, Jameson was going to do everything in his power to take Spider-man down. He wasn't even welcome at Avenger's PR events anymore (not that he had the free time to be shaking hands and kissing babies). It was tough to imagine Hawkeye or even Ant-man going dumpster diving just to avoid getting cuffed… _again_. God forbid this kind of stuff ever happen to the big names…

He grumbled to himself as he started webbing his way back home. It was already six and the rush hour traffic was starting to clear. Maybe things weren't all that bad. He still had another day to find an apartment, and considering his luck these last couple days, karma was really starting to owe him a big one. He thought about the For Rent sign he had seen chasing after the armed men and considered stopping in on his way back. Things are never quite as bad as we imagine them to be, right?

The faint beeping of his Avenger's receiver caught his ear. He climbed up onto a nearby balcony and pulled up his sleeve to check the watch-like apparatus. Pressing a small button on the side, he opened the line and responded to the call.

"Please tell me you're calling because you finally decided to start handing out superhero paychecks…" The voice on the other line merely coughed awkwardly. It was Wasp.

"No such luck, Spidey." Peter sighed.

"Alright, what's the job?"

"We're a little short on back-up right now. Cap's helping Hawkeye and Widow with S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff and Ant-man's still on a research trip to Peru. I sent Iron Man to scope out a strange energy signal we picked up in Brooklyn and I haven't heard from him in a couple hours."

"I'm checking up on Iron Man? Doesn't he hate that?"

"You've always been a charmer, Spidey. I'm sure you can get him to let it slide." …_Then why do I feel like cannon fodder? _

"Alright, but if I get blasted by so much as one energy beam, you'll be hearing from my lawyers."

"You better get Matt-freakin'-Murdock… Tony's already got the top lawyers in New York on the payroll." Spider-man sighed before disconnecting his receiver.

"How is this my life?" Peter started the long run down to Brooklyn while grumbling to himself. _It's certainly not for the paycheck… _Rent would have to be tomorrow's problem. For now, he had to find Iron Man.

It wasn't uncommon for Iron Man to remove himself from the Avenger's grid, but it was uncommon for large warehouses in the middle of Brooklyn to be billowing smoke. Spider-man landed on the roof and crawled into an upstairs window. He clung to the ceiling unnoticed while he tried to figure out what was going on. At the moment, five Hydra agents were firing a barrage of lasers at what appeared to be a rather distressed Iron Man while one attempted to flee with a rather large hunk of tech. Using their surprise to his full advantage, Spider-man pulled the technology from the goon's hands with a long line of webbing. He webbed it to the ceiling before climbing down one of the walls and joining in the fight.

"Why are you here?" Tony probed the young hero before raising a force field with his left hand and hitting a goon with an energy beam from the other. Meanwhile, Spider-man stepped backwards until he was back to back with Iron Man.

"Just your friendly neighborhood reminder that you turned your cell phone off," Spider-man responded, sounding about as excited to be there as he felt. His proportionate strength of a spider sent an unfortunate agent flying backward, hitting the ground moments later with an undignified whimper.

"Cell phone… That's cute. You can tell Wasp that I'm a little busy at the moment." Three more agents came running into the warehouse in response to their teammate's distress call. Iron Man stalled them by collapsing part of the ceiling in front of them.

"I would, but thanks to you, I'm a little busy at the moment." With a fluid motion, a web flew from each of his wrists, finding their mark on two approaching Hydra agent's helmets. A powerful tug sent them colliding face-first in the air before landing in a painful heap. The final three agents stood at a distance, hoping to find an advantage in long-range combat. Their prayers would go unanswered as Iron Man fired an electric pulse at the remaining combatants, leaving them twitching on the ground as he casually pressed a couple buttons on his gauntlet. Spider-man rolled his eyes under his mask, despite his extreme pleasure at the scientific complexity of such a device.

"Show off," he quipped before turning to face the older hero. "Hydra in Brooklyn? Really?"

"They were after the… Where did the generator go?" Tony scanned the room.

"I may have webbed it to the ceiling…" Spider-man jumped up onto the walls to retrieve the device.

"Of course you did," Peter could practically hear Tony's blood pressure rise a little. "The latest in Stark technology, a prototype Hydra went to great lengths to steal and you've covered its delicate machinery in high tensile strength goo." Spider-man hopped down from the ceiling, device in hand.

"Hardly. I attached it using the fan covering and the heatsink. Besides, my high tensile strength goo dissolves in three hours or so. It might take a while, but try to unknot your metal panties." Spider-man tossed the device into Tony's waiting hands. He received it with a cautious gentleness. After confirming the state of the generator, Tony looked suspiciously at the young hero.

"This is nothing like any of the generators on the market. Tell me, what is this?" he asked, pointing a metal finger at a small component.

"It's the latest Stark ion source. Due to its exponentially increased capacity from the traditional model you needed the fan and the heatsink in the first place," he replied casually, digging out his Avengers communicator. "Hey Wasp? I—" Metal fingers curled around the device, effectively shutting it off. "Hey!" Peter replied with a childlike petulance. Tony's helmet opened, revealing an intrigued if not slightly manic expression.

"How do you know about that? I haven't revealed the new ion source to anyone, except…"

"Reed Richards? Yeah. We were in a bit of a situation so we used a similar model to power an inter-dimensional wormhole. Now can you turn that back on so Wasp doesn't send someone after me too?" Peter reached out for the device expecting Tony to resist, but the device was offered freely.

"Interesting… I hadn't even considered that sort of application…" Peter merely nodded as he powered his transponder.

"Hey Wasp, it's me. Everything's fine."

"Thank God. I wasn't sure who I was going to send if you were both missing…" Tony surveyed the young male as he placed his free hand on his hip.

"Seeing as you'd already scraped the bottom of the proverbial barrel…" The tone was relatively light, but the twinge of real hurt was obvious.

"No, that's not what I—"

"It's okay Wasp. I get it. I'm not sure if I want anything to do with me, considering the kind of press I get. I'll send Iron Man back your way." Wasp's voice caught for a moment as she started to say something and then stopped.

"Thanks Spidey."

"No problem." Spider-man ended the call. Doing his best to ignore Iron Man's stare, he slipped out a web cartridge, checking its contents. _Not good. _The other cartridge bore similar results. He could probably make it a couple blocks before he ran out, and he didn't think he could get away with hoofing it. He'd get a block, maybe two before the police were informed about his whereabouts. Any other day he'd have a spare change of clothes, but he hadn't intended to go on patrol, especially this far from his apartment.

"Can I help you?" he asked, temper flaring. The iron man shifted slightly, before taking a step back.

"Relax, bug boy. I was just curious about the gear. I always kinda figured you made those things… au natural, if you get my drift."

"The gear's a little low on 'au natural' at the moment," Peter huffed.

"No need to get upset. I just figured Reed's kid might have something spiffy," Tony headed back to work, gathering the unconscious agents before contacting S.H.I.E.L.D.

"You're right. Sorry. Things have been a little rough lately and I think I spent my ride home getting here." Peter took the moment to sit on one of the larger hunks of concrete from the ceiling. He hadn't had the time to relax since he left his apartment that morning and he was running on little more than the hotdog he'd managed to choke down.

"I can give you a ride home. Fury's going to want a debriefing, and I'm going to want to seem too busy to give it to him." Spider-man chuckled at the confession. The sound was muffled slightly by his cloth mask, but it was a sweet sound. Iron Man couldn't help but smile, secretly grateful that the boy couldn't see it.

"The Avengers consorting with vigilantes?" he probed, the hurt from earlier all but gone from his voice.

"I've consorted with worse…" Tony teased, his voice dripping with sexual deviancy. Spider-man laughed uncomfortably.

"I'm sure you have. You don't happen to have an Iron Man-mobile, or some high tech vehicle with a catchier name, do you?" Tony's helmet merely tilted downward as he studied his suit.

"I _am _an Iron Man-mobile." _Riiight. _

Peter was seriously wondering whether or not he chose correctly in accepting a ride from the older hero. Sure, he wasn't exactly looking forward to another tangle with the New York police department, but this… this was undignified.

Long, thin legs dangled over a metal arm as Peter tried to shift himself into a more respectable position. His arm was wrapped around a cool metal shoulder as Iron Man carried him in the safest way possible. He wiggled in the tight grip cradled between Iron Man's arms. _I hate you so much right now… _

"I can't help but notice that you smell like the inside of a dumpster…"

"Wow… that really means something coming from a guy with no nose. Sorry, I'm no longer allowed in the Laundromat."

"I tried the nose thing. Didn't work out. But a Laundromat? Shouldn't you be living with your mom or something?" Spider-man bit back a groan.

"I'm a little too old for that," _even if it's hard to tell from my girlish figure… _"I'd make a crack at your lifestyle, but it's a little difficult considering your suit costs more money than I'll spend in a lifetime while mine is hand-sewn and quite frankly smells like the inside of dumpster. Specifically the one in the alley behind Fourth Street." Iron Man didn't reply to that. Instead they rode for a while in silence as he thought.

"You're not homeless, are you?" Tony felt a little embarrassed by the question, but considering the way the boy smelled and the fact that he was currently flying him toward the aforementioned dumpster, it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.

"Today? No. Ask me again tomorrow," Peter crossed his arms, discomfort showing despite his masked features. "Speaking of which, just drop me off somewhere around here. I should have plenty to get home." Hundreds of people lived around here, and Peter refused to give up the final scraps of the 'secret' in secret identity. Iron Man said nothing, hovering slowly onto the roof of a small grocery store. He watched as the small, muscular frame gracefully climbed out of his grip. He was about to take off again before something stopped him. This young man could hold his own against Reed Richards and he was going to be living on the streets.

"Hey," he caught the young man's attention, waiting for him to turn to him before continuing. "I could use minds like yours. I can guarantee a significant pay increase… come work for me." Peter could feel the gears in his brain stop turning while he replayed the conversation in his head. Work for Stark? Work with Stark tech?

Tony, mistaking Peter's silence for reluctance, attempted to sweeten the deal. "I've got a place where you can stay in the tower until you get back on your feet. At least consider my offer. Tomorrow, 10am. You can even wear the mask." Peter could do nothing but stare in shocked silence as Tony headed off to deal with an irate Nick Fury. (Sorry, that was a little redundant, wasn't it?)

He just got an offer to work with one of the biggest names in the scientific industry, not as Peter Parker, but as Spider-man. He could voluntarily move out of his hellhole of an apartment, instead of being kicked out.

At precisely 10am the following morning, Spider-man stood in front of Stark Industries with everything he owned in a heavy duffel bag under his arm.

Curious pedestrians watched the young man with either fear or disdain as he stared up at the flashy skyscraper. Stark was many, many things but modest was not one of them. It was with more than a slight case of the jitters that the vigilante shifted the heavy bag up further onto his shoulder and pushed open one of the large glass doors. He couldn't help but whistle lowly in awe of the sleek, _expensive_, interior design. The white marble floor sparkled with a fresh coat of polish under his feet and calling the ceiling high would be like calling Osborne a _little _peculiar (short on 'very' and some colorful swear words). The entire front of the building was glass allowing the natural sunlight to softly yellow the unnatural white light giving the place a healthy glow. Compared to Marco's Pizzaria and dealing with Jameson anywhere, this place looked like heaven.

Peter, ironically enough, felt a little underdressed for the occasion as he scuffed the soft, rubber heels of his boots on the entranceway. Feeling more than a little vulnerable, he pulled his duffel bag close and approached the front desk. The woman behind the desk had her greying hair pulled up into a tight bun without a single stray strand. She ignored the young vigilante shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of her desk until he cleared his throat pointedly.

"Uh… hey. I'm Spider-Man," his train of thought died in his throat at her deadpan expression. "B-But you already knew that. I'm here for a job…" The woman allowed the awkward silence to drag on a little longer than socially accepted and Peter had the sinking feeling that he might have imagined the entire conversation.

"_Spider_-Man," she said, without a hint of sarcasm (note the sarcasm), "Here's your identification. Generally Stark Industries requires that employees have their photograph on the card, but… I figure, why waste the time?" It was difficult to tell whether she was angry with him in particular or just an angry kind of person because she immediately turned back to her work.

"Heh…" Peter laughed uncomfortably and for the first time in a long time he couldn't think of a witty retort. He had faced off with Dr. Doom and managed to have a go of it, (though Doom brought it on himself with all the 'doom' puns) but this woman… this woman knew how to make a spider wet his skivvies. Steely grey eyes studied him from over her reading glasses for just a moment as he clipped the identification card to his costume.

"Take the elevator up to the twenty-third floor. Someone will be waiting for you." With that thought completed, Peter Parker ceased to exist to the bitter old woman and he walked a little more quickly than necessary to the elevator behind her desk. Peter pressed the glowing round button for the twenty-third floor and began his ascent. It was difficult to imagine Tony Stark asking that woman for his appointment schedule, although that would have explained her questionable attitude. Even before Tony ever came forward as Iron Man, he was known for his arrogance and womanizing. He was a brilliant man with a high speed intellect who struggled with anyone who couldn't keep up with him both in wit and charisma.

Chapter 2:

By the time the elevators opened on the twenty-third floor, Tony Stark was there, coffee in hand to greet the vigilante with a slightly mischievous smirk. Peter could help but shift the bag on his shoulder awkwardly, feeling horribly ridiculous in full body spandex while _the _Tony Stark eyed him with amusement.

"I was wondering if you'd wear the suit…" He said, turning and motioning gently for Peter to follow. His shorter legs stepped quickly to match Tony's pace.

"I thought the mask might clash with business casual…" Tony saw Peter's expression shift slightly under the mask to a depreciating grin. "Plus, I'm not sure my business suit smells any better than this one." Tony's face twisted microscopically with disgust before he caught himself and carefully righted his expression.

"Am I to assume then that you haven't…?"

"Uh no… I kinda figured I could…?" The moment was almost awkward as Tony slowed to a stop.

"You came to your first day working as an executive in R&D not only dressed in fetish gear, but smelling even worse than when I offered you the position?" His mouth was fixed into a perfectly unreadable straight line as he watched the young adult fumble for an appropriate answer.

"Well, I—"

"I'm just screwing with you. I'll show you where you can stay, assuming you intend to, and I'll get someone to clean the suit." Tony led Peter back into the elevator and they headed up another hundred floors. Tony spent the trip sharing information about the building's layout and the basics of what he had been working on.

"You seriously live here?" Peter asked, amazed that the man would live anywhere near the office considering the fact that he could afford to live anywhere in the world and commute via private jet. Tony only shrugged, remembering Pepper's half-hearted protests about creating his living space in the top five floors.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I live in Malibu, Hong Kong, Cancun…" He continued leading Peter, clearly uninterested in the direction the conversation was taking. "So much for separating work and pleasure, right?" Peter paused at the question, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Uh... right." They entered a spacious living space on the 124th floor. The entranceway alone was larger than the apartment Peter had been kicked out of this morning, and he gaped in wonder at the ceiling to floor bay windows in the sitting room. He'd seen this kind of view many times while he was web slinging, but having it so casually a part of where he would be living? He turned around when he heard glass clink behind him. Tony looked at him sheepishly as he pulled a tumbler from the dark wood liquor cabinet, filling it with tonic, (and attempting to sneak in a shot of gin, but failing).

"I'll have you know it's happy hour somewhere… Dubai, maybe. How's the view?" He stood next to Peter, studying the skyscrapers cutting across the skyline until the horizon faded into the harbor. The sharp scent of alcohol bit at his delicate senses and he felt a little nervous about the entire situation.

"Pretty impressive for a living room," he smiled amicably, though the other man could only see the barest signs.

"How about I show you to the bathroom and you get yourself cleaned up and I'll send someone for your suit?" He stated, more than asked, his socked feet treading lightly on the soft, dark carpet. Peter followed him to an equally lavish bathroom with a shower that looked as mechanically complicated as his web shooter. It was practically a small glass _room_ with various nozzles pointing from every direction.

"Just put the costume on the other side of the door and I'll find something to replace it for a while," Tony nodded slightly, closing the door behind him as he excused himself.

_Yeah… Sure. _He tried to shrug off the awkwardness of the entire situation and his own feelings of helplessness and impotence for not even being able to keep himself and his things clean. He was pretty sure those things resided pretty low on Maslow's hierarchy of needs and be things he should definitely be taking care of as an adult. Fortunately, spending a couple years in spandex had taught him a great deal of humility… Being Spider-man had certainly come with enough embarrassing situations which would put this one to shame.

Sliding his hands under the worn fabric, he began rolling it off of his shoulders. He undressed slowly, biding his time until he would have to remove his mask. At this point he wasn't sure if he felt more vulnerable with being naked or being without a mask… he gave an anxious glance for any cameras, well aware that he wouldn't be able to find them even if they were there. With a sigh, he pulled the fabric over his head, feeling cool air hit his skin and his hair bounce upward with static cling.

With a quick motion, he thrust the suit out the door and locked the door. It felt a little like showering in the middle school locker room, except this time he _knew _someone was going to take his clothes. …Harry had never really let that one go completely… If he hadn't had the foresight to check on him after gym, he probably would have been stuck streaking home that night.

_Forget doing _you _a service, Peter. I did the whole city a service! No one wants to see that… _Yeah, thanks Harry…

The memory was bittersweet and his stomach twisted unhappily.

Finding a small touch screen on the wall with symbols which seemed to relate to showering, he carefully picked an icon. Instantly, cold water burst from the many faucets, causing him to shout with surprise.

"Ack! Stop! Stopstopstop..." he studied the device again searching for a button when the shower turned itself off as suddenly as it had started. Free from the icy barrage, he shivered unhappily, feeling embarrassed and irrationally angry at Tony for buying such a user-unfriendly shower. Obviously it had some sort of voice command system.

"Uh… warm water," he tried. "Warm water, on?" The showerheads leered down at him waterlessly.

"Can I be of assistance, Mr. Spider-man?" A male voice called out to him from somewhere inside the shower. He sprang into action instantly, fists balled and ready for a fight.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" No one appeared and the voice rang out beside him yet again.

"I am sorry for alarming you. I am J.A.R.V.I.S. You need not be alarmed, I am merely Tony's user interface for his personal devices."

"And you're watching me!?" He asked, wanting to hide his face, but well aware of the futility.

"No. My surveillance functions have been turned off in your quarters for the duration of your stay. You input a request for cold water. The icon you were looking for was the one above that one." Peter nodded despite the fact that the interface supposedly could not see him.

"And if I ask you to stop monitoring me at all? Would you do that?"

"Yes. Disabling Auditory Monitoring. . ." the room was as silent as it was before and Peter could only hope that the disembodied voice had in fact been telling the truth. Either way, he showered quickly, oblivious to the luxury of the expensive soaps and body washes, anxious to get as far away from J.A.R.V.I.S. as he could. Once he had showered and dried, he reached out tentatively to find clothes sitting where he had left his costume not long ago.

There was a pair of dark, acid-washed jeans, a Black Sabbath T-shirt, and silk boxers, all new with tag and surprisingly close to his size. He slipped them on, feeling a little ridiculous in the semi-punk attire and extremely aware of the cool silk that rubbed up against him as he moved. At the bottom of the pile he found a thin, soft fabric, ski mask, which he slipped over his head, just in case. Frankly, he looked rather ridiculous and a little more fetish-y than when he had walked in. He stepped out of the bathroom feeling cleaner than he had since he had bought his filthy apartment and showered with a sink for the first time.

Barring the alarming surveillance experience, Peter could definitely appreciate living in this kind of luxury. _Don't you dare get used to it… _he warned himself. With the kind of lifestyle he led, Peter could easily find himself homeless again (or worse) in a matter of minutes.

With a final itchy adjustment of the ski mask over his moist skin, Peter opened the door and stepped out into the main hallway where he came (quite literally) face-to-face with an absent-minded and now a little bit terrified Tony Stark.

"Woah! Jesus… I'm not used to bumping in to anyone up here," there was a small bundle of cloth in his right hand so he rubbed the back of his neck with his left and carefully avoided eye contact. "I forgot that you might want socks… Normally I would have something new to give you, but all I have right now is a couple pairs I brought with me from my last trip to Hong Kong." Despite all of his posturing and arrogance, it clearly bothered the older man to be offering someone else his used, albeit freshly washed, Armani socks. Reveling only slightly in the other man's discomfort, Peter accepted the socks, sitting on the edge of the couch to slip them on.

The warm material slipped smoothly against his skin with none of the stickiness of cotton or polyester. Once fully on, the heel of the sock sat somewhere around his ankle so Peter pulled it back down far enough that the heel would meet properly, ignoring the fact that the tips curled down over his toes and flopped quietly on the carpet as he walked.

Tony casually hid his mouth behind a curled hand but the gentle creases around his eyes gave him away. This ridiculous ski-masked creature sitting on the arm of his twenty thousand dollar couch was… adorable. While Tony Stark had always displayed a limited patience for women who attempted to act cutesy or childish, only now seeing the deflated ends of his socks over the young man's feet could he see the appeal.

"You don't have to wear them if—"

"No. They're really soft, actually. You may or may not be getting these socks back." The two men worked their way back to the elevator where Tony pressed the button and waited for the doors to close.

"I've got a question, Mr. Stark." Peter asked, big brown eyes meeting Tony's.

"Yes, Mr. Spider-Man?" a carefully manicured eyebrow quirked upward mockingly.

"Who is J.A.R.V.I.S., and why is he watching me shower?" Tony exhaled heavily through his nose, formulating a reasonable response.

"Not 'who' so much as 'what', or even 'who was' if you want to get technical…" Peter subtly shifted his weight away from the taller man. "Aaand, now you're more creeped out than before. I assure you, it's nothing weird or dangerously dystopian," he speaks a little more quickly, mumbling slightly, "okay, maybe a little dystopian, but he/it is the house's AI. Sorry I didn't mention him… He isn't tracking or watching you in any way. Think of it as a Stark Industries Operating System for only my favorite toys." The elevator reached its destination and Tony led Peter further.

"Your shower…?"

"The entire building, actually. All of my buildings." Peter's gait loosens slightly, muscles moving fluidly as he slips back into his element.

"So you've created a _learning_ artificial intelligence, and you use it in your shower… I hate to say it, but I'm starting to get the feeling your toys might even be as fun as Dr. Reed's (if only _slightly_ less existentially challenging)." The two men reached the end of a long white hallway and stood in front of a large glass door. An alpha-numeric code sequence and a retinal scan later, they are granted access and the door opens automatically.

"Welcome to Stark Tower's Research and Development Wing for the Advancements of Bioelectrical Bonding Agents, or as I like to call it, back-up garage seven." The white walls are lined with rows of metal shelves stacked with materials in various states of construction. In the middle of the room sat a large, mechanized hand on a six-foot long swiveling arm with several smaller appendages with simpler, more specialized functions. With a wave of one of Tony's hands a holographic projection of a three-dimensional technical model appeared in an arc around him. He motioned for the screen to move over to where Spider-Man could easily study it. As the graphic rotates to show the design from every angle, it deconstructs itself, allowing Peter to easily reverse engineer its function. He whistled lowly.

"That's… ambitious, to say the least. Do you think the ion source generator could power propulsion of this magnitude without, y'know, blowing up?" Tony glanced toward Peter, completely unprepared for the unbridled excitement he found there. The boy couldn't be over twenty-one, and yet his dark eyes glimmered with anticipation for Tony's thoughts on the capacity of the generator in regards to force field technologies.

"Ah, well… no. Not yet, anyway. I figured it would be a good starter project. What it needs is—"

"Some kind of shock absorption which would not only be resistant to high temperatures, but would also help maintain the structural stability of the chassis." Tony could practically hear the gears spinning in the young man's head. "What you need is a whole like my 'high tensile strength goo'…"

_Ohh, smart and knows how to hold a grudge, _Tony thought. _This one's a keeper. _Peter was already scanning the room.

"Do you mind if I?" he inquired, surprisingly polite when he wasn't being a total smartass.

"That's what you're here for."

Tony had intended to step out once Peter got started, but he quickly got caught up in the younger man's excitement. He missed a stockholder's meeting and a dinner date with Playboy calendar's Miss November, but it hardly seemed to matter as he watched Peter apply his sharp mind and Spider-enhanced precision to the first working prototype. Someone had to be sent for coffee and pizza during the night, but by morning he and Peter were debating solutions to what appeared to be the next major setback.

"We don't need to reinvent the wheel here, Tony. If we adjust the outer frame we can safely control the same level of propulsion without having to move the coolant line."

"It's bulky enough as it is. If we want to create a practical force field above all else it needs to be portable."

"And it will be, but first we need a working model to prove what we've already constructed is stable." Tony was impatient to have the model finalized while Peter was more than happy checking the numbers a couple more times and avoiding what would potentially be a bigger setback than restructuring the frame after the fact.

"It'll work once we—" The door opened behind them and four bloodshot eyes studied their intruder.

"I'm sure I'm not interrupting anything…" a dainty hand adjusted a leather bound planner, "Tony… and strange masked teenage boy in highly classified R&D lab." Despite his frustration at yet again being mistaken for a teenager, Peter held his tongue… mostly.

"Hi," he waved awkwardly. Tony dragged a stool from the corner of the room, hunching over slightly and preparing for a conversation he clearly didn't want to be having.

"Pepper Potts, meet Spider-Man. Man of Spiders, the one and only Pepper Potts." Peter's friendly, but slightly strained smile was lost behind the ski mask.

"_The _Spider-Man? Menace to society, Daily Bugle's Most Wanted, Spider-Man?" green eyes studied him with unconcealed disdain.

"Strange, masked teenage boy is fine, thanks," Peter muttered unhelpfully, feeling the need to babble now that there was a gorgeous woman in the room.

"To be fair, they say all kinds of horrible things about me too," Tony couldn't help the shit-eating grin which creeped across his face. Pepper could only frown more deeply in response.

"All of which is true, including the drop in stock prices after you failed to attend yesterday's stockholder's meeting." Tony crossed his arms, shooting a conspiratory look to his young friend.

"The Bugle's already covered that? What time is it?" Pepper flipped the page in her planner.

"Not to mention the calls from a rather distressed Miss Sullivan. I'm absolutely flabbergasted these girls are still surprised when you stand them up." Peter did his best impression of an unassuming office fern, attempting to stay as uninvolved in this conversation as possible.

"Miss…" Tony turned around, continuing to fiddle with the model, clearly done with the conversation.

"November."

"That's right. The blonde." He could practically hear Pepper grinding her teeth. Considering her dental plan, he supposed she could afford to, but it seemed like a bad habit to start. He briefly considered mentioning this to her.

"One of many, _Mr. Stark._" Her tone was acidic. "If stock prices drop any lower we'll lose the holdings in Boston which you know Oscorp will cover." Peter's attention was immediately drawn back into the argument.

"It won't. Spider-Man won't let it, right?"

"Uh-?"

"All we have to do is send a couple apology letters and show a demonstration of the production possibilities of a portable force field generator and they'll remember why they've chosen to work with Stark Industries. Am I off the hook, Miss Potts?" Despite his flippant tone, Pepper seemed slightly relieved. The woman was extraordinary in many ways, but of her countless impressive qualities, a decent poker face was not among them.

"No. You've got a two o' clock with Senator Rowan and unless you're going to show a demonstration of the military possibilities of your force field device, you'd better intend on showing up. Take a nap, bathe, and someone will be outside to drive you by one." The two men watched the red head's hips sway steadily and more naturally than they had any right to over black pumps as she left. (Peter a little longer than Tony.) Tony studied the young man.

"You've got drool on your chin, oh Man of Spiders." Satisfied with himself as much as Peter's startled expression, he smirked as he checked his watch. In his peripheral vision the young man readjusted his mask and cleared his throat.

"Are you guys…?" Peter couldn't meet his eyes, feeling a little uncouth for even asking.

"No. Not anymore… She's not the kind of girl you leave waiting up for you when you're off playing superhero." Peter hummed appreciatively, remembering the fierce red-head in his own life. Tony stood, making his way to the door, more than ready to escape everything his past relationship with Pepper had brought up. Peter shuffled uncertainly behind him.

"The mask won't work forever, you know… No matter how careful you are. At some point, the mask and the identity have to become the same person or you'll wind up losing both. It won't be today or tomorrow or even this year, but things are changing. Maybe I'm just looking too far into this but…." The mood had shifted quickly from melancholy to ominous and back again.

"Tony?" Peter couldn't help but feel reminded of how ridiculous he looked standing there in someone else's clothes and a ski mask.

"You're welcome to stay and work if you want." Peter watched silently as he left, still disturbed by his sudden mood swing.

_It won't be today, it won't be tomorrow, but things are changing. _

Despite having the opportunity to sleep more than five hours for the first time in a long time, Peter was restless. He'd awakened at four, opening his eyes to the uncomfortable and disorienting feeling of forgetting where he was. Silk sheets, smooth as water, were wrapped around his legs and they tickled the thin scraggle of his leg hair as he worked on untangling himself. Despite the pristine, climate-controlled room with a king size bed and the promise of financial stability for the first time in a long time, so far, he'd managed to sleep better living in squalor.

Kicking the sheets off his ankles, he sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. Tony had assured him repeatedly that no one would interrupt him up here, but the surreal feeling of being in alone Stark Tower left him aching for his mask. Feeling only a little bit foolish, he shook the feeling off and headed to the bathroom. Someone had left him a toothbrush and toothpaste, just in case he hadn't had the foresight or resources to bring his own. Peter briefly wondered what Tony must think about his normal level of hygiene, but he accepted the gifts regardless. To be honest, his toothbrush was getting rather worse for wear… He hummed slightly to himself, appreciating greatly the small luxury of smearing a generous amount of toothpaste on a fresh, stiff bristled toothbrush. He continued humming as he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his hair down as best he could with wet fingers.

He felt anxious for something to do. Remembering the ID card and access code Tony had given him for the lab, he grabbed his mask out of the neatly folded pile of the pieces of his suit. He slipped on the mask, feeling the expertly softened fabric slip against his not-stubble, and savoring the delicate clean smell. Tony's socks had stretched a little further overnight as he tossed and turned and kicked at his sheets, but he patiently tugged the heels back into place. Somewhat sleepily, he wandered out into the hall and toward the lab.

Before he knew it, Peter was elbow deep in science and quite some time had passed. He had somewhat carelessly cleared one of the storage desks of its contents and covered it with papers on which he'd been recording potential tweaks to some of his previous scientific endeavors. Once he was satisfied with empty feeling in his mind from throwing around numbers for hours, he started in on the grunt work. He'd been fairly careless in the last couple weeks in regard to his equipment. His shooters were scratched, one potentially damaged beyond the apparent cosmetic issues, and their lack of webfluid was a big part of why he was in Stark Tower in the first place. He'd noticed the chemical cabinet while working the day before and now was admiring its contents with equal parts appreciation and guilt. Granted, he didn't exactly have an employee contract with Mr. Stark, but Tony hadn't exactly discouraged him from working on his own scientific endeavors either. The chemicals he needed weren't terribly expensive in small quantities, but in order to achieve the right consistency, he'd need to distill larger quantities into less of a more potent mixture. It would be pocket change to Tony, but the act felt a little sour in his stomach. He assured himself that he would pay Tony back when he get his feet on the ground, even if that meant cutting his pay in half for a while. With that guilt set aside for the moment, he slipped off his mask so that he could see what he was doing and set to work gathering materials and tools that he had seen in the lab the day before.

He worked contentedly until around six that evening when he was interrupted by the lab door opening.

"AUTHORIZED: STARK, TONY." Peter startled at the loud, mechanized voice, grabbing his mask off the desk and retreating backward, legs tangling in his stool and landing awkwardly on the ground. He stared bewildered at Tony who merely blinked in confusion.

"Spider-Man?" he asked, mouth working a little faster than his brain. "Did you trip? I mean, is that even a thing, with your spider-dexterity or something?" Peter stared up at him, self-consciously kicking the stool away from his legs. His mask was on crooked, and he was wearing some Spider-Man themed pajama pants he'd no doubt bought ironically at a big box discount store along with the oversized Black Sabbath T-shirt Tony had lent him the night before and those damnable, ridiculous socks.

This situation called for an emotional response, but Tony's stomach had jumped to his chest before he could burst into laughter. Peter merely climbed to his feet, straightening his mask in an attempt to gather some of the shattered remains of his dignity. Under his mask, his ears were as bright as his costume and his chest beat faster than it had in half of his near misses dancing through the New York Cityscape with a supervillain tight on his tail. Tony's age showed slightly as the lines around his eyes pinched into pleased creases. His signature smirk did what it could to hide the honest emotion, but around his eyes, the satisfaction peaked through.

"I – uh…. I'll pay you back!" Peter promised, confusing one embarrassment with another, and Tony scanned the room for damages. The young man had done quite a number on the order he had strictly enforced in the room, with discarded supplies sitting on the floor around a desk covered in messy notes. His chemical cabinet was open and some of the bottles were sitting around where Peter had been working. The ventilation hoods purred happily and Tony sniffed, curiously. The air smelled faintly of burnt tires and stomach acid as he approached the workspace.

"What are you…?" He asked, pretending not to notice as Peter folded a sheet of paper and slid it in his pocket. "Is this your web stuff?" He asked, motioning toward a container of a blue-tinged, viscous fluid that seemed to be the source of the smell. Peter picked up the stool and pushed it back to where it belonged.

"It's not web fluid, no. Well, not exactly…" Tony merely eyed him impatiently, uninterested in whatever technicality Peter was wrestling. "Remember the problem with the casing on the ion generated force field device? We needed something kinda like, but not exactly web fluid. I made the web-fluid to set up quickly and dissolve after a short period of time. We needed something more stable and less elastic than what I use…" Tony had already picked up the beaker and started studying the colloid. "C-Careful! I'm not sure if it's completely stable yet." Tony's lip quirked in acknowledgment, but he continued to study the solution, holding it up to the light. Peter started to shift uncomfortably beside him, stacking used beakers that needed cleaning and rearranging the papers that had snuck over to his work station as he worked.

"This is amazing. Less than twenty-four hours..." he muttered, more to himself than to Peter. "Y'know, I wrestled with this idea some while I was in college and I could never come up with the formula for this kind of material. Granted, I'm not a chemicals wiz like you are, but twenty-four hours… _damn._" Peter's face heated slightly and he moved away to get another stool, anticipating a barrage of questions regarding the process and materials. "How much do you want for this sample?" Tony asked, setting the beaker down and leaning against the desk. Within an instant, he'd switched from fellow scientist and geek to chairman of the board and sole owner of Stark Industries. His shoulders sloped with a practiced nonchalance, and he smiled invitingly.

"What?" Peter responded flatly after an agonizing moment of silence.

"I mean, we might make a deduction considering the hourly pay I'm giving you for the work in the first place, but how much would you want for this specific patent? One Hundred K?" Tony all but had the checkbook at the ready as Peter studied him. For some reason, he felt itchy under Tony's pointed gaze, suddenly all the more aware of how ridiculous this entire situation was.

"I didn't—" Peter started, completely taken off guard by how insistently Tony was watching him. His eyes were brilliantly dark, the color of newly finished mahogany, but without some the warmth and mirth he'd seen earlier. Within an instant he'd gone from comrade to competitor. Aware of the younger man's discomfort, he sighed, relaxing back against the table.

"You're right. I'm being too pushy." Tony eased some of the awkwardness with what would be a self-depreciating smirk were it not accompanied by his practiced arrogance.

"No! I just- I mean, I owe you one anyway. I didn't do it for a patent or money or anything." Now it was Tony's turn to feel uncomfortable. With a quirked eyebrow, he nodded once, appreciating the genuine selflessness intent behind the gesture.

"I mean, we barely know each other, but you've done so much for me… I was just tinkering at first, but the problem kept circling in my head and the next thing I knew I was making it, y'know? And, I'm sorry about using everything without your permission; I was just kinda on a roll after I made a really good batch of web fluid. I don't want to overstep my bounds, but maybe just give me another week to find a job? I'd like to keep working here in my off hours, but I don't really think I'm qualified for this kind of position." Tony touched his fingers to his bottom lip as a nervous tic as he listened and Peter anxiously twiddled his thumbs. The younger man jumped when Tony started to laugh. The sound was sudden, and the rich, raspy noise echoed slightly off the metal ventilation hoods. He swore quietly as all of the amusement from the last day and a half caught up with him. He remembered the smaller man staring at him sprawled across the floor with the metal stool.

"Jesus, kid," he laughed. "You are so…" he struggled for a moment to find the right word, "unguarded." Peter weighed the word in his head, uncertain whether he should be proud or affronted. "I didn't do all this out of the kindness in my heart. Brilliant superhero needs work? I need scientists? It's a give and take. Companies would charge as much as a small house for this solution alone. Not to mention Pepper's still fussing about me having a new _'playmate'_."

"Considering your reputation, I'm not sure I consider being called your 'playmate' a compliment…" Peter grumbled, slightly embarrassed by the implication while Tony smiled a little lecherously.

"Aww, c'mon. I'm not that bad, right? Plus, you'd be the first brown-eyed beauty I've ever had in my lab." Peter reveled in the comradery, but the line soured his stomach. He replayed it a couple times before he realized the problem. Brown-eyed. He wasn't wearing his normal mask yesterday. It was a minor detail, and a popular trait, but combine that with his skin color and around where he used to be living… It dawned on him just how easy it would be for Tony to deduce his secret identity, assuming he hadn't already. It was absurd to think that he'd be allowed the position, had Tony not known anything about him besides his superhero identity. Suddenly his mask felt restricting on his face as his lungs shuddered for breath.

"You…" he started, gathering the gumption to make the accusation. "You know who I am," he stated, rather than asking. "You knew before you even offered me the position." His voice grew tighter at the end as his mind started spiraling into conspiracy theories. With his luck, when something bad happened, a long series of unfortunate happenings was certain to follow. _Stupid_ he thought, _Clumsy and stupid._ Tony merely shrugged insouciantly.

"Have you ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Parker?" Peter peeled off the mask, leveling Tony with a frustrated scowl.

"Of course I have." S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had more than once stormed in, scooped up the bad guy he'd just finished nabbing and disappeared like high tech ninjas. It would've been irritating were it not so impressive.

"Then S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dug up every bit of history there is to find on you. I helped build the most recent database and security systems they're using to store that information." The gentle trust that had building in Peter's eyes turned cold and suspicious. "We're at a turning point, Peter. The people of the United States aren't going to tolerate people operating the way you do for very much longer, and when things start to change, you'll be the easiest target." Peter shuddered at the implied threat. Whatever Tony knew, if he was a target, Aunt May would be in danger soon enough. "_I didn't do this out of the kindness in my heart._" Tony promised again.

"What do you expect me to do?" Peter wondered aloud, feeling the anticipation of a coming storm setting around his shoulders.

"For now? Live here, work in the labs, and don't antagonize New York any more than you have to. I'm still working out the long term plans."


End file.
